


Snips and Snippets

by ShadowSpires



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, M/M, from tumblr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 21:38:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6211114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowSpires/pseuds/ShadowSpires
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Assorted bits and bobs from tumblr in various stages of coherency/morphing into full-fledged fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Doorway Progressions

**Author's Note:**

> I think this is based off an incogneat-oh headcannon but I can’t find it…

Even more than Dick, Jason was the boy who would always leap for the top of the manor’s front doorway, laughing, swearing that one day he would reach it. Who pouted and refused to touch it when Dick gave him a piggyback ride through, because damn it Dick, he would do it himself one day. He was gonna outgrow all of them, just watch!

And then he was dead. He would never grow any more, never walk through that door again.

The first time Jason slunk back into the manor - death and resurrection, killing, recrimination and tentative forgiveness between him and that child he had been - he was wary and uncertain of his welcome. He crouched through the doorway, hunched, his posture shrunken in on itself, like he wasn’t the tallest of them all.

The day, a year of trial and pain and forgiveness later, that Jason walked trough the doorway, laughing, with one arm slung around Dick’s shoulders and contentment in his posture and causally reached up to tap the top of the doorframe, just as he had always strove for as a child, Alfred had to turn away and pretend the moisture in his eyes was from dust in the spotless house.


	2. Where's a frog when you need one?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the Prompt: Kissing to save the day. DamiTim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: half meta, half fic.   
> Original notes: Really guys? I know I asked for prompts, but I *don’t ship this*….and you *can’t make me~!*  
> …Or maybe you can, damn you.

  
Damian had unfortunate run-in with a spellcaster. He's unconscious, and nothing they do will wake him, and none of the tests they run have any effect.   
  
Cass suggests they kiss him awake. After he read her Cinderella - *with voices* because Dick is the best brother ever - Dick also read her Sleeping Beauty. Dick is very pleased that his sister knows the reference. When the magic-user they called in agrees that it might work, considering the spell, he is less pleased at the thought of everyone kissing his littlest brother, though.   
  
The magic user says that it will need the energy, best transferred through a kiss, of someone Damian is close to, though they can’t say if ‘close’ is physically, emotionally, ideologically, etc.   
  
Cass, Dick and Steph all take a turn, which has got to be one of the most awkward things any of them have ever done. They are all beyond happy that Bruce and Alfred are currently elsewhere, because they is a level of awkward and fucked up non of them even want to consider. (Though Dick is a little sad that he isn’t ‘close’ enough to Damian to be able to wake him up.)  
  
They even pulled Jason in, who yelled at them for a bit about what they were asking him to do, then barely bussed his lips before storming out. Roy and Kory, who had come with him both tried as well, before shrugging, excepting Dick’s hugs and quiet thanks (both for trying, and for looking after his little wing) before leaving to go track Jay back down.   
  
Tim is the last one left of the family before they start running out of ideas, and people an over-protective Dick will allow to kiss his little brother. Even if said little brother had grown up so much that even many of Dick’s generation of heroes giggled over how attractive he was.   
  
~~~~~  
Tim stared down at Damian, lying motionless on the bed, save for the slight rise and fall of his chest, as he breathed steady and deep.  
  
It was terrifyingly like seeing Bruce in those few moments he truly rested. Somehow the sharpness of Damian’s expressions made him look more like his mother when he was awake and being disdainful, but at rest he looked more like Bruce.   
  
And completely like the brat child who had tried to kill him several times, not too many years past.   
  
This was ridiculous. That this was the solution they had been reduced to attempting was utterly ridiculous. On par with the craziness of their lives, but still.   
Damian probably wouldn’t even appreciate the reference, or the irony. Though actually that was probably a good thing, or they would have him snarling about being a “weakling princess” or some such nonsense. Or maybe not. He’d shown a startling lack of concern over gender-roles, other than his comments to Steph, and that seemed to be more of a case of trying to pry at any weak places than a true disregard for females. With a mother like his, after all…   
He’d probably be more irate about the whole, being taken out by a spindle, thing.  
Tim was stalling. He knew that even without Dick’s nervous shifting behind him. There were subtly differences between Dick’s nervous shifting, and his normal I’m-an-acrobat-and-thus-pathologically-incapable-of-staying-still shifting. This was definitely nervous shifting, and if Tim didn’t hurry up, someone was going to find themselves wrapped up in a patented Dick Grayson I’m-worried-let-me-hug-you octopus cling.   
Knowing his luck, it would be him, and that would just delay the inevitable even further.

No help for it.

  
Damian’s lips were soft. Chapped from the cold Gotham wind, much like Tim’s own, but soft. Not at all what Tim expected. The surprise made him linger a second longer than he intended, but it was just enough to see blue slivers appear as golden lids parted and ebony lashes lifted.   
Tim found himself pinned by that stare, frozen in place, lips a bare millimeter from the younger’s lips, breath mingling.  
Damian’s eyes opened fully, and Dick’s whoop of triumph was lost in the buzzing in Tim’s ears.   
A smirk grew on the young face with the too old eyes. There was something in those eyes, like-  
“I know you are desperate, Drake, but kissing the unconscious?  
-irredeemable brattiness and smug arrogance.  
Tim yanked away, storming out of the room. Like he had needed a reminder that of all of them, except the Crown Prince of Evil, he was the only one without someone?   
Ha! And the spell that required them to be ‘close,’ for the cure to work was obviously a faulty one. He was as far from that demon-spawn as it was possible to be.  
That was the last time he ever did the brat any favors. Next time, he would let him rot away in a magical coma for the rest of his life. See if Tim cared.  
If Tim’s fingers reached up to brush against his lips? Well, he needed to remove every trace of the demon-brat from his person, after all.


	3. Get Thee Back in the Nest!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin can't possibly be expected to deal with this.

The majority of the Leaguers who poured out of the zeta-tubes in response to the emergency signal from Mt. Justice nearly jumped out of their skin when the tiny ball of yellow, red and green fell out of the rafters straight at Batman.

  
Batman simply reached out a hand, caught what had materialized from a blur of colors into the body of a small child, and with a spin, sent it soaring back up towards the ceiling.

  
A shocked gasp, and cry of “Batman!” was interrupted by manic giggling as the little body caught and swung itself onto one of the low-hanging beams along the walls.   
Robin came running into the room looked harried and worn-out, far from his usual composed self.

  
He looked infinitely relieved to see Batman, rushing over towards him as he exclaimed;  
“Batman, Nightwing’s been-”

  
“Deaged.” There was a wealth of dry humor in that dark voice, for anyone who knew it well enough to pick out. “I noticed.”


	4. Stranger Danger!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim wasn't expecting this.

Light played against his closed eyelids, rousing Tim from sleep. He grumbled softly and burrowed deeper into the arms wrapped around him. He tucked his face into the join of neck and shoulder to escape the evil sunbeams.  
Wait.  
What?  
His eyes popped open and he froze, head jerking back to see-  
Deep blue eyes and a distinctive white fringe.  
A strangled yelp escaped him and sent him tumbling back out of Jason’s arms, only to collide with another body and another pair of arms that pulled him against a firm -naked! Naked! That was skin against his!- chest.   
A hand blocked his panicked nerve-strike before the voice behind him sank in.  
“Whoa, Timmy! Easy, it’s just us!”  
“Dick, what?!”   
He twisted to stare at the mussed man behind him- and the trails of red bitemarks marching from his neck down his chest.  
 _Heat and pressure, burning through him, need need needneedneed, sweat and skin and want, forever-want, and building, blinding pleasure. Tongue lapping at gathering sweat, and the bite of teeth drawing such delicious sounds._  
“Oh God, what?” He stuttered. What had happened? How- why- Dick? And Jason?  
What was going on?!


	5. Holy Double Vision, Batman!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark was hoping not to have to deal with this when it happened...

Superman hovered just above the roof, soundless, as he stared at the dark-haired boy crouched on the ledge of the building. The boy was motionless, and Clark could only guess at his expression, as the hood of his too-large red sweatshirt shadowed his face.  
The westering sun glinted off the windows of the office building opposite and rebounded fractured beams back towards them. Clark soaked them in, reveling in the warmth, but noticed that his companion seemed to take no notice.  
His posture was slumped and pained, and while normally Superman would be concerned about someone on the edge of a sixty story building, he knew did didn’t have to worry about this one falling. Still, he released control of his x-ray vision just long enough to confirm that the boy was not injured.  
A few scrapes and minor cuts, the beginning of a truly impressive black eye, but everything bore evidence of Alfred’s trademark care.  
Clark lowered himself onto the rooftop gravel and let a few deliberate crunching steps carry him over to sit on the ledge beside the boy who had doubtless known he was there anyway.  
Clark wasn’t sure what to say to the Robin on his rooftop in broad daylight.  
If Clark had ever expected either of Bruce’s boys to come to him, utterly fed up with their mentor, hurt and bewildered and in need of guidance, he hadn’t expected it to be this one.  
Actually that was a lie.  
If he’d ever expected one of them to come to *him* then yes, the right boy was before him. Honestly though he’d expected Jason to break first. Jason’s morality and methods chaffing against Bruce’s more and more as he grew. Bruce and Jason came from two very different worlds, despite their similarities. Clark knew they had been clashing more often, and that it had been worrying Dick.  
Clark knew that Jason would never have come to him though.  
If Jay was to go to any of the older crowd for advice, it would be Wonder Woman.  
Damn. He’d been hoping to let Diana deal with this entire situation when Jay inevitably went to her. He owed her an apology and a nice dinner for betting against her when she said that it would be Dick’s hot temper and strong ties outside Gotham that finally drove a wedge between Batman and his Robins.  
Not that Clark knew that was what had happened. He just couldn’t imagine anything else what would have Dick here, looking like his world had just ended, without a single solitary piece of Bat tech on him, and clinging almost desperately to a sweatshirt Clark would bet his parent’s farm belonged to Jason.  
And not that Jason was in evidence anywhere, but the cape and cowl crowd - at least those who even knew there were two Robins - knew that where one was, the other was not far behind. Regardless of what had driven Dick away, Jason would either reign him in, or be right behind him.  
Inseparable, like they had been since the first day Clark met them.


	6. Ubiquitous Coffee Shop AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim has a date! He's very excited, Roy and Dick are very excited. Everyone is very excited. There is even cake! (But happy endings are a lie.)

Tim fell into his usual seat, tucked into the corner of the coffee shop. He was nearly half an hour early, but he was just so excited. Dick winked at him from behind the counter, already half way through making him a drink.  
He bounced a bit in his seat, hardly able to contain himself. Roy laughed gently at him from his own usual seat on a bar-stool; close enough to pester Dick constantly - and growl when the patrons got too flirty with his boyfriend.  
Tim grinned brightly at him, then at Dick when the man brought him his drink. He took a sip, expecting his usual latte, and nearly spat it out in surprise.  
Chamomile tea?  
Dick laughed at him, and ruffled his hair.  “You’re bouncing enough already Tim, you don’t need anymore caffeine.” The smiling man said, before bouncing his own way back past Roy behind the counter. Roy snuck in a quick grope as Dick passed him, getting a slap on the arm and an admonishment to keep his hands to himself while Dick was working. Then he got a thorough - handless- kiss that had a few of the other patrons wolf-whistling.  
Tim considered glaring after the man - if anyone needed less caffeine in their life it was Dick - but couldn’t contain the brilliant smile.  
Roy smiled after him a bit hazily, before he made his way over to Tim’s table, throwing himself into the comfortable leather couch.  
“Today’s the big day, huh?” the redhead asked, as if Tim’s nervous excitement hadn’t been enough of a give away.  
Tim nodded, looking over at Roy and cycling quickly from overwhelmed excitement to nervousness. In just under 20 minutes Jason would be here. Jason Todd. Jason Todd, the senior. Jason Todd, the boy Tim had been crushing on since he had transferred into Tim’s school when Tim was *twelve*. Jason Todd, who was friends with some of the most beautiful people of campus, but had stuttered out a blushing invitation to meet *Tim* for coffee.  
“What if… What if it doesn’t go well, Roy?”  
Roy gave him a serious look.  
“It might not.” He said, always the realist. Tim normally found that comforting, but it wasn’t helping to make him feel any better at the moment. “But from what I hear, he really likes you. Just, be yourself and it’ll be fine.” He flashed Tim a wicked look. “Or at least, that’s how I snagged Dickie.”

 “Oh?” Came the arch question from behind him, making him jump and curse and flail while Tim bit his lip and tried not to laugh at the big man. Dick stood behind him, a tiny sliver of raspberry cheesecake in his hand. He had his eyebrows raised - he’d pouted for *days* when he realized that Tim could raise just one eyebrow, since he’d never managed it - and was peering down at Roy. He slid the plate with the cheesecake and a tiny fork in front of Tim with a wink and a saccharine ‘sweets for the sweet~!’ before he leaned down and gave Roy another kiss, this one soft and tender. “I thought that’s how *I* snagged *you?*” He murmured in the fashion of sappy lovers everywhere. Tim pretended to gag, but really he was so happy for his big brother that he had found someone like Roy.  
Maybe he and Jason…  
He shooed the lovebirds back to the bar and pulled out his laptop to distract himself for the remaining 15 minutes so he didn’t start pacing and babbling nervously until Jason arrived.

2 hours later, he quietly packed up his laptop, returned his plate and cup to the counter, avoiding Dick’s concerned and angry gaze, the way Roy’s fists were clenched to a bloodless white, and slipped silently out of the shop. He took one last look down the street in either direction, pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head, hugged his laptop case tight to his chest and walked out into the falling dusk.

*******

Nearly two hours after that, a tall figure skid around the corner, sprinting down the street towards The Heavenly Wings Coffee Shop. Red flashed as the figure was brushed by the glow which poured from streetlights and spilled from windows as he dashed down the street, heedless of the chill, soaking rain that begun to fall nearly an hour previous, or the large puddles he splashed his way through.  
Catching sight of the shop, he nearly tripped, pace faltering. He dragged himself the last few steps and pressed fisted hands against the cold door, leaning his forehead against the glass and staring blankly into the dark interior. His shoulders curled inward and he leaned all his weight against the door for a minute, two, seeming to have lost his ability to hold himself upright. Jason fisted his hands in sopping red hair and thunked his head against the door a few times, very deliberately.  
Finally, after nearly five minutes of standing oblivious to bewildered passersby, he pulled himself away from the door, swiping his forearm angrily across his eyes. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he walked off down the dark street back the way he came. Following, had he only known it, in Tim’s dejected footsteps.


	7. Stitches (to hold my heart in place)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick is sill adjusting to life alone. Badly.

Dick is sitting alone on his couch as the sun rises, a lamp shining over his shoulder, illuminating the uniform shoulder on his lap, and lighting the way for the neat line of stitches he’s putting in the slice.

He hasn’t been to bed yet, and he probably won’t. He’s got to be at the station in three hours, and he still has to compile the information from his night’s investigations. 

His hands don’t shake, though he can feel them wanting to. Too many long days and longer nights. Too much adrenalin and too little sleep.

Too much practice, too much control. 

If they shake on this he’s never going to manage to put the needed stitches in the wound that was under the new hole in his uniform. The one on his shoulder, currently held together by butterfly bandages and hope. He should have done that one first, before the adrenaline and the endorphins wore off, but his hands *had* been shaking then. 

He didn’t have any anesthetic. Still too used to the stocked medical bays in the tower or the cave. Too slow to replenish his own stock. He may have a decent income but last month it had still been a choice between restocking his medical supplies and a new supply of the hellishly expensive high-tech grappling wire and mechanisms that meant life or death in a moment of freefall. 

It had been a necessary choice, but damn, this was going to hurt. 

Still. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d stitched himself up. He was getting better and better at it. The first time, after he’d struck out as Nightwing was still an awful scar, clearly demarcated from the older, neater lines made nearly invisible by Alfred’s tiny, precise stitches. 

It wound it’s way across his ribs, evidence of a lucky dealer with more blades than sense, wide and shiny and uneven where the stitches gaped or pulled too tight; too few, but he couldn’t stand to put in any more, couldn’t bring himself to drive that needle into his own flesh one more time. 

He’d gotten better since then.  Better at the stitches. Better at avoiding knives. 

Not perfect. But better. 

Better at being alone. 

(That last one’s a lie. He’s always been good at lying to himself.)


End file.
